


Anchor

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon has to deal with Blair in a safe house and Jim on the loose.  Angst abounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second of my stories which deals with the link between Jim and Blair -- and it throws in Simon, too, because he has to deal with them. Previously published in CTYS 8, July 98.

## Anchor

by J M Griffin

Author's disclaimer: They belonged to Petfly when I wrote this. I am not at all sure who they belong to now. :)

* * *

ANCHOR  
by J. M. Griffin 

"Jim, Jim, listen to me please." My top detective paced my office like a panther in a cage. He looked alert, intent, but was he listening? No. I got up from my desk and went around and put a finger on his chest. 

"Ell - i - son," I roared and finally got his attention. "It's for a week, tops. And it's for his own protection." 

Jim just looked at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. Which made me want to shake him. "Jim, there isn't going to be any discussion on this. Sandburg's going into a safe house and you are going to stay away from him for as long as it takes. Do you hear me?" For a minute I thought I was going to have to lock Jim up to get him to co-operate. But suddenly he sort of collapsed, sank into a chair and stared down at the floor. I could see his misery in the slump of his shoulder, the set of his head, and swore to myself. But I didn't show him any sympathy. I knew if I was going to have his cooperation on this I had to be ruthless. 

"The guys are on their way to get him now. You're going to have to put on a show, Jim, act pissed that Blair took off with some of your stuff. Do the good riddance to bad rubbish routine. We want to make Samson Trane believe Blair is out of the country and out of your life. Understand?" 

Jim nodded dully. It made me want to smack him, but I held off. I knew he was hurting. Blair Sandburg was more than Jim's partner, more than his Guide in this freaky Sentinel stuff. I had known for some time Blair was his lover. Hell, I think I figured it out almost before the two of them did. 

Still, there was no way around this situation. We had loaned Sandburg out to Vice and he had done a great job. He had never been in any danger \- after all, Trane was wanted for money laundering, not murder. It was at the trial Trane realized Sandburg had been the one that fingered him. Weeks ago, when he threatened the "hippy cop's" life, we had all brushed it off as nothing much. But four nights ago, Trane had escaped the minimum security prison where he had been incarcerated. And two nights ago, Blair had received a death threat in the mail. It had been delivered to the loft and it had scared the daylights out of Blair and Jim and the rest of us involved. 

Suddenly Jim was alert and in my face again. I preferred him that way, of course, but sometimes it wasn't fun at all. 

"Simon, did you say they were on the way to get him now?" 

I sighed. "Yes." And that did it. I caught the gleam of tears in his eyes before he turned from me. 

"Damn it, Jim." I said softly, going over to him and resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be all right. It just has to be this way. Trane saw the two of you together. Undoubtably, he has your loft under surveillance. Just do as I say and you'll have Blair back in your arms in no time." 

I ended up just sitting with him for a while after that. Five minutes maybe and then he pulled it together and headed out of my office to begin the charade. I could only stand at my window looking out into the bull pen and admire his courage. And wish there was someone to love me the way he loved Blair. 

* * *

I reached the safe house later that afternoon to find Blair in a frenzy. 

"Simon, Simon. These guys won't even let me send a letter to Jim," Sandburg's eyes were huge as saucers and he was moving his hands frenetically, always a bad sign. I took a deep breath. 

"No contact, Sandburg. We discussed this already. No contact at all. Not a letter, a call, and definitely no e-mail." 

"But Simon, I didn't even get to tell him..." Surprisingly enough, he didn't dissolve into tears, but just looked at me as if I had betrayed some trust. 

"Blair. I told you this morning, Trane is no fool. He is perhaps the most intelligent criminal I've ever dealt with. He has incredible access to technology. The loft is probably bugged, though we haven't found anything yet. We know someone tapped into Jim's phone line at the station. We think it was Trane's operation. We know Trane thinks you're a cop. We want him to go on thinking that. What we don't want is him tracing you back to the university. It's important he continues to believe the reason you skipped town was because of the death threats. We booked flights in something close to your name with four airlines. Vice sent someone on one of those flights who could be taken for you. We just hope Trane follows the trail and shows himself to that man, because then we'll have him and all this will be over. But until we find Trane, we can't let him find you. And that is that." 

Sandburg's mouth had a sullen set to it. Obviously, I had not convinced him. I sighed. Sometimes these two men were too much. I found myself desperately wanting a cigar. I walked into the adjacent kitchen and made do with preparing a cup of coffee. Blair followed me. 

"Ah, Simon," he explained softly as I took a sip of the steaming brew, "it's just that I wasn't thinking how it would feel to just grab stuff and leave with no goodbye to Jim. It's like I really did desert him. The feeling has me freaked." 

I looked Blair in the eye and saw the naked pain there. "Can you tell me what you want to say? I'll pass the message on." I knew I was asking him to extend a hell of a lot of trust, but what else could I do? I had witnessed Jim's tears and now here was Blair's quiet angst. 

Blair looked at me for a time, his eyes shadowed. "Just tell him I love him." He said finally and walked out of the room. I could see him in the living room, his shoulders shaking in silent sobs. I let him be and went to deliver his message. 

* * *

Three days later nothing had changed. I sat at my desk and looked over all the files. Trane had obviously gone to ground. He hadn't taken the bait and followed the cop who had been sent to the Bahamas. We'd left the guy there in hopes his presence would attract Trane's attention. Working in conjunction with Vice, we had bulletins and memos out all over the U.S. I myself had called and re-established our link with the police department in San Francisco. It had been their extra information that had helped Cascade P.D. nail the bastard. Trane had lived there several years ago when he began his operation as a money launderer. He had later moved to Washington state where he had progressed to being, well, if not the best in the business, certainly one of the richest. Trane himself was an innocuous looking man and had, to our knowledge, never killed anyone. Vice had been damned lucky to get a conviction on him. 

Jim burst through my office door roaring my name. I had gotten kind of used to his flash in the pan temper being even more volatile than usual, but this was something else. "Simon, Eric Anders is dead," he announced. 

"What?" I half rose from my chair. Anders was the undercover Vice cop acting as decoy in the Bahamas. "Where did you hear that?" Jim's face was red and his eyes were wild as he paced in front of my desk "Whoa, whoa. Jim, slow down. Sit down and tell me." 

My phone rang and it was the police chief himself giving me the news. When I hung up the phone, Jim sat down. 

"I went to school with Frank Blevins. He called me when he got the news." Jim said. I nodded. Lieutenant Blevin's was the Vice cop leading the case. 

"Simon," Jim continued. "This puts Blair at even greater risk. And it makes it obvious Trane will do anything to eliminate him. What's the next step?" 

"Jim," I said sternly in my best "I'm the captain" voice, "you know I can't tell you that. And furthermore, you are not on this case for a damn good reason. Blevins shouldn't have called you about Eric Anders." 

No matter how badly Jim wanted to be on the case. Hell, no matter how badly how badly I would have liked him working on it - it wasn't going to happen. So I did what I had to do and shut down on Ellison. "Go back to work, Jim." I winced at the harshness in my own voice, but Jim didn't even notice. He was staring at his hands, lost in thought. 

He looked up. "Simon, let me..." 

"No," I said sharply. "No way. Now get out of here. Some of us have work to do." It was the wrong choice of words. I watched as they registered with Jim; but instead of getting mad as I expected, he came up to the edge of my desk. 

"Will you be seeing him today?" 

I shouldn't have told him. He might try to follow me to the safe house. But his eyes were bleak and his hands shook with a fine tremor; so I closed my eyes and said, "Yes." 

"Then give him this, please." Jim's hand slipped into his coat pocket, brought out a flat little box and handed it to me. 

"I will," I muttered. I was relieved when he left. 

* * *

It was very late before I made it to the safe house. I'd had a lot to deal with due to Anders' death and then I'd gone home to grab a bite to eat and change clothes before I headed out again. I took a long, circuitous route, making several stops along the way. I was fairly sure Jim had not followed me, but knowing the range of his Sentinel abilities, I could not be certain. 

The house was quiet and dark. The guy from Vice let me in. He gave me a look. 

"What's the problem?" I asked immediately. 

"He's not sleeping well. Nightmares and stuff. I tried to get him to talk to me about it, but, heck, he doesn't know me from Adam. Maybe he'll talk to you..." The guy shrugged as if to say 'no big deal,' but I could see he was genuinely worried. 

"Okay, thanks." I said quietly and went to the door of the bedroom where Sandburg was sleeping. Or rather, was supposed to be sleeping. He was sitting up in the bed looking out the window. The room was lit only by moonlight, which cast distorted shadows across the rumpled bedclothes. 

"Sandburg?" I said it quietly, but he jumped and gasped, then grinned sheepishly. 

"Captain Banks, isn't it kind of late for you to be here?." 

"Isn't it kind of late for you to be awake?" I retorted. 

"Can't sleep," he admitted. 

I sat down on the chair near the side of the bed. "Nightmares?" 

Blair grimaced. "He told you." He moved his head to indicate the cop on duty in the other room. "I think I freaked him out. I woke up screaming. Freaked myself out." He grinned again and jumped topics in a heartbeat. "Did you see Jim today?" 

"Yes," I hesitated, wondering whether or not to tell him about Anders. 

Blair saw my hesitation and did his own interpreting. "Is he all right?" he said, sitting up abruptly, concern on his face. "Jim hasn't been hurt or anything." 

"No, no," I assured him quickly, deciding not to mention Anders yet. "Jim is fine. He sent you this." I handed him the jewelry box. 

His big eyes opened even wider as he took the box. The moonlight caught the planes of his face, putting him in sharp relief. His mouth had broken into a smile at the sight of Jim's present, though his eyes remained touched by sadness. I had already sneaked a look at what was inside, so I watched his face intently as he opened the box and caught sight of the silver chain and medallion within. Sandburg's breath caught in his throat. With trembling fingers he took up the chain. The charm dangling down from it was a tao on one side, gold washed sun and silver moon nestled together on the other. Blair brought it up and fastened it around his neck instantly, then stroked the charm that fell against his t-shirted chest. He closed his eyes and I watched as the tears leaked out from under his curly eyelashes. 

It struck me, not for the first time, how achingly beautiful he was. I wanted to gather him into my arms as I would my own son, but this was a man, not a child. Sure, I could pat and console Jim; he was my old friend, my brother in arms. I could even offer him a comradely shoulder to cry on. But not this young man. 

I had noticed Blair's beauty early on. It was one of the reasons I was so hard on him, so harsh with him. If I'm not steeling myself against his charms, the kid gets to me every time. It isn't exactly a sexual thing, but it is incredibly elemental. While basically hetero, I've always been a sucker for beauty, whether in male or female form. 

Given all this, I didn't trust myself to touch him, so I sat back in the chair and talked to him about inane things. What was going on in Major Crimes. The case Jim was working on. For a while Blair listened intently. Then his eyelids grew heavy and his breathing slowed. The moon still shown through the window, bathing him in a milky white light. He looked like some sort of moon god - ethereal, with his hair fanned out around his head, and yet sensual and earthy as hell, with that dark fringe of eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks and his full mouth slightly agape. 

I got the hell out of there before I did something stupid. 

* * *

I didn't get enough sleep, so I was grumpy as hell the next morning. It didn't help that Vice was reeling after the news of Anders' death. I spent much of the morning swearing and most of the afternoon working with Blevins trying to decide the next step to take. We thought maybe we had a plan of action that would work. So the following morning when all hell broke loose, it really pissed me off. 

It was still dark when the phone rang. I leaned across the bed to grab it. 

"Banks," it was Blevins voice, definitely not who I wanted to hear from at, I looked at the clock, five a.m. 

"Yeah, I'm here." 

"They nabbed Ellison." 

"Shit!" I exploded out of the bed, my heart pounding. "What... How...?" 

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy. We have a lead on where they might have taken him. It has to be Trane's outfit. They took him right out of his loft apartment. We should have kept the place under surveillance." 

"Yes, we should have... But that doesn't help any now. So what is the lead?" 

"Not over the phone. I'm at the loft. You'll want to see it anyway. Can you...?" 

"I'll be there in ten." 

* * *

I couldn't believe the mess the place was in. Jim had obviously put up a spectacular struggle. The smears of blood scared the hell out of me. 

"He must have cut his hand on the glass." One of the gals from the lab offered. "I don't think it is too serious. There isn't that much blood. It just looks that way because it got smeared around." 

"Thanks." I said, acknowledging her attempt to allay my fears. Jim's usually neat apartment was in shambles. Glass crackled under my feet as I walked around. What on earth was it from? I reached down to pick up a bent and broken picture frame. It was a rather heavy brass frame and almost slipped from my handkerchief covered fingers. I recognized it as one I had given the guys - kind of an unofficial, anniversary present. 

The picture had been yanked out, but I remembered the one that had been in the frame - Jim seated on the grass, Blair behind him with his arms draped around Jim's neck, both of them smiling. A buddy shot at first glance, but if one looked a bit closer the love shown through and it wasn't hard to see the two as lovers. A chill ran down my spine. I suddenly knew why the picture had been taken. Now Trane had exactly what he had been looking for. A way to Blair. 

I had Blair moved immediately. 

Not that Jim would willingly do anything or say anything to give Sandburg's hiding place away, but the man was only human and, well, I didn't want to think of the things they could do to him to get him to talk. Better to be safe than sorry. Besides, Jim would be aware we would move his partner - so perhaps he could use what he knew - on all levels - to his own advantage. 

I made sure Blevins and his team were working hard to follow up on that lead. Rafe and Brown were working with them. I had to convince Joel Taggart to stick to his own assignment. He wasn't the only one that wanted to drop everything and jump to Jim's case. But this wasn't the only big crime investigation going on. A little girl had been abducted from her home and there were signs she had been murdered. As much as I wanted to be in the middle of the hunt for Jim, I couldn't be. So I gritted my teeth and trusted Vice and my second best team to find him. 

* * *

By the time I got to the new safe house, it was the next day. One a.m. to be sure, but still the next day. I had made certain no one said a thing to Blair, but I knew he was aware something was up. After all, he had been moved from a rather comfortable setting in a spacious house to a little hole in the wall garage apartment. A very remote and very secure place. He would be frightened, recognizing things had changed. But I had seen Blair frightened and I knew that was something I could deal with. What I didn't want to deal with were all the emotions the other news I was bringing would evoke. 

Again he was sitting alone in the bedroom. Except this time the room was tiny, the air was stale and sour, and there was no moonlight shining through the window to bathe his face with light. I walked in and sat down beside him on the narrow bed. Blair sucked in his breath and looked at me. Suddenly, I knew he had been sitting this way for hours. Waiting for information. Scared shitless and too well trained to put up a fuss in what was obviously a desperate situation. 

He had come a long way in a couple of years. A long, long way. 

"Trane has Jim," I told him. 

Sandburg closed his eyes and caught his breath in his throat. Then his eyes fluttered open again. 

"Where?" 

"We are narrowing that down now. But as far as we know he's alive." I said quickly. 

Sandburg closed his eyes again and nodded. "I think I knew that. "I would feel it if he was dead. But something bad is happening to him, Simon. Something really bad. I'm scared. I keep seeing...." He screwed his eyes tighter, then opened them to look at me. "I think somebody is hurting him." 

My God. It took my breath away. I had worked all day to keep back such thoughts. Even when the little girl had been found dead, having been tortured, my thoughts had instantly flown to what might be happening to Jim. Now I ached to reassure Blair. To tell him everything would be all right. But I couldn't, I didn't believe it myself. 

"Simon, give me over to Trane. Swap me out with Jim." Suddenly Blair was on his knees, pleading with me. "Please, please, just do it. I don't want him hurt because of me." 

He clutched at my hand. "Simon, Simon, I keep seeing a whip. They are hurting him. And I Can't Do Anything To Stop Them." These last words were ground out between clenched lips. Tears flowed down Sandburg's face. He squeezed my hand hard. "Please." 

"Blair," I croaked out. This was too much. I wanted out of there, but I stayed where I was, doing my best to explain. "Blair, you know we can't do that." 

Blair released my hand and stepped away from me. "Don't tell me that. I..." 

And for a moment I saw such anger in him as I had never seen. Rage, heartache, and all the pent-up frustration of a caged animal. It was shocking to see and rocked me to my core. 

"I'll find him, Blair." I found myself promising hoarsely. "Give me twenty-four hours. If I haven't found him, I'll release you. You have my word on that." I stood and walked to the door. 

"Captain Banks," It hardly sounded like Sandburg at all. I turned to look at the young man behind me. "Tomorrow, if I don't get word," he said tightly. "I'll walk out of here. Don't let them try and stop me or I'll..." 

Lord, what would he do? I saw in his eyes he was on the verge of something... hysteria, maybe insanity. I could not tell. I went to him then and pulled him into my arms. He sagged against me as if he could not hold up his own weight, but he did not sob. I had no words. Some things are beyond words. In a few moments, he straightened and pulled away. I held his shoulders a second longer, making sure he was balanced on his own two feet, he seemed that unstable. I could only nod at him. He stood silently, watching me, as I left the room. 

I was barely to my car when my cell phone rang. It was Taggart. "Simon, where are you? Brown has a bead on where Jim is being held. He and Rafe are there now. They've called for back up. Help is headed their way." 

I got in the car and started the engine as Taggart gave me directions. 

"But Simon, listen to this," he continued as I raced across Cascade. "Trane has some buried depths." Taggart's mellow voice grew rough. "Turns out Trane isn't simply into money laundering. He owns a bunch of clubs strung out all through the western states. He's a suspect in a 1995 murder of a man, a male prostitute, aged 23. And as we followed the path of his clubs, we've found his employees have the funny habit of dying violent deaths. Mostly men, mostly in their early to late twenties. There is no way to tie them to Trane, except he owned the clubs where these men and a few women were working. In several of the cases, it is noted that the owner lived out of state - in California if the club was in Nevada. In Nevada if the club was in New Mexico. Like that. And Simon, all the victims had been beaten and in some cases tortured." 

A cold feeling crept over me as I recalled Blair's words about a whip. I pulled up behind the batch of the police vehicles and ran for the front of the waterfront storage building to which Taggart had directed me. There had obviously been a very recent gun battle, but it was just as obviously over. A man who was not Trane was being cuffed and shoved into a squad car. 

In my haste to find out all that had happened, I nearly ran over Rafe as I opened the door of the large building. 

"Captain Banks," Rafe winced when he saw it was me. 

"Where's Trane? Is Jim okay?" I bellowed at him and Rafe winced again. 

"We didn't get Trane and we haven't found Ellison yet..." 

There was a yell from the recesses of the warehouse and Rafe swung to look behind him. "That's Brown. He must have found Jim." I hurried after him, praying it was so. 

I moved through the dimness across the unused storage area where the shooting had taken place, past a clutch of Vice cops. 

Brown stood with his big form blocking the front of the partially opened door to what most probably had once been an office. I noted his dark face had an odd, blanched cast to it. "Jim's in here." Brown said as he indicated the room with his head. Whatever my detective had just seen inside had disturbed him greatly and he wasn't dealing with it well. Taking a deep breath, I shoved through the door and came to an abrupt halt. 

Jim, stripped to the waist, hung from a bar suspended from the ceiling, his body slack against the ropes binding his wrists.. His flayed, bleeding back was to me. I moved to him, grasping him around the waist and lifting him slightly. Brown slipped around me and quickly sliced the ropes with a pocket knife. I could feel Jim's chest rising and falling within my embrace. I lowered his body, then looked around, hesitating to put him on the gritty floor, but Brown had already pulled off his coat and spread it out for me. Gently placing Jim on it, I took off my own coat and arranged it under Jim's head. His face was a mess of bruises and I inspected it closely, then began a thorough inventory of his body, checking for broken ribs and internal injuries. My hands and Brown's coat were bloody from Ellison's wounded back, but I resisted the urge to turn him over to get a better look, just in case there was some internal or spinal damage I did not deduce. Brown was dialing 911 as Jim stirred beneath my hands. 

"I don't know." He said with a groan. His eyes were closed tightly and his words had a slightly slurred quality, like it hurt to form them, but he continued through clenched teeth. "Leave me alone. That's what the little bastard did and I have no idea where he went." 

"Shhh, Jim. It's me, Simon," I told him. For a moment I wasn't sure if he had heard me, but then his eyes flickered open. He shifted slightly and winced. 

"Be still," I told him. "I don't think you are seriously injured, but I want you checked out before you move." 

Jim's whole body trembled suddenly and he closed his eyes again. He looked pale and shocky. 

"I'm okay," he said softly, a bit too slowly. I was beginning to think that, while his jaw wasn't busted, he had taken some serious damage to it. "It's just my back." 

Brown, who was hovering at my elbow, gave a snort. "Good grief, Jim." he said in a hoarse voice. 

Another shudder wracked Jim's body causing him to groan. "I've got a blanket in my car." A voice volunteered from the door. It was Rafe. Several Vice cops peered in as he vacated the doorway. Brown shoed them away. 

Pretty soon the blanket was handed to me and I tucked it around Jim. Where the hell were those paramedics? 

"I'm cold, Simon," Jim whispered. "Why the hell am I so cold?" 

I stretched out beside him then and carefully put an arm over him. He turned his face toward me and said, very, very quietly, "Blair." And then he was out again. 

The paramedics were both female. They hissed when they saw Jim's back and looked at me with fierce eyes. "Who did this to him?" the red-haired one said angrily, not really expecting an answer, as she started an i.v. 

Her partner looked over to where I had retreated to give them access to Ellison. "He's going to need stitches and an x-ray of that jaw. It's not dislocated, but there might be a hairline fracture. He has a concussion, so he'll most likely be admitted, but my guess is he'll be all right in a few days." I nodded. I could see Jim was conscious again. He was giving the other paramedic monosyllabic responses. 

Brown stepped to my side. "Captain, I'll ride with him to the hospital, okay?" 

I nodded in agreement, momentarily distracted when Jim moaned as they moved him to a stretcher. Brown followed my gaze. "He keeps asking for Blair." 

I nodded tersely. So Brown knew. Well, he'd keep his own counsel and, as much as I'd like to have stayed by Jim's side myself, I had work to do. Just outside the door, I could hear Rafe telling Blevins there had been no sign of Trane on the premises, even before the shooting. With one last look to Jim, I started over to them, then I stopped and grabbed at Brown as he followed Jim's stretcher on its was out of the building. "Get word to Sandburg." I ordered. He nodded and loped after the paramedics. 

* * *

Dead ends and wild goose chases kept me from getting to the hospital as soon as I would have liked. I was dead on my feet by two in the afternoon. Not having gotten any sleep the night before was catching up on me. I had to roll down the window of my car and let the cold, wet November air hit my face to keep myself awake. 

Jim was in a private room, a guard at his door. Obtrusive as hell, but safer that way sometimes. 

He was asleep when I got there. His jaw was a spectacular purple and black all along the left side. The doctor had reported there was indeed a hairline fracture. It turned my stomach to think of what Jim had gone through. Even in sleep his face was creased with lines of pain. I made a mental note to make sure he was getting a painkiller. Knowing my stoic friend, he wouldn't want to take it. If Sandburg was here, _he_ would make certain Jim did what he needed to do to get well quickly. But without Blair around Jim would be real pain in the ass to the nurses. I'd seen him in action before. 

Before Blair. 

I pulled up the nearby chair and sat down with a sigh. 

Jim opened his eyes and gave me a look. 

"Did you get him?" he asked immediately. 

"No," I shook my head in disgust. "He wasn't at the warehouse." 

Jim started to shake his head, then stopped abruptly. "Oh yes, he was," he stated firmly. "He's the one that whipped me." 

"Are you certain it was Trane?" 

"God damn it, yes, I'm certain." Jim's eyes narrowed in anger, then they changed suddenly and he swallowed hard. "Simon, whatever you do, don't let him get to Blair. That's who he wanted...," he paused a moment and swallowed again, "that's who he wanted under that goddam flail. I was a poor substitute." Jim closed his eyes and shuddered, then his eyes flew open and he reached out and grabbed my forearm. "Don't let that bastard near Blair." 

"I won't." I promised. 

I wanted nothing more that to go home and get some sleep. And to wake up to find this was all a bad dream, but real life doesn't work that way. So I drove to the apartment where Blair was being kept. 

I sat outside in the car for a time before I went in. I knew Brown had filled Blair in on what had happened. I knew I was stalling, but I was tired and the terrible thing was this ordeal wasn't over. I took a deep breath and pulling myself together, went on in. 

I think Blair would have met me at the door if they'd let him. As it was he was over to me the second I made it through the door. 

"Simon, are you okay? You look like hell, man." The concern in Blair's voice startled me. I had expected the same anger and frustration he had displayed on my last visit. But then, all through this debacle Blair had managed to surprise me. I scrubbed at my face and I gave a weary sigh. He took me by my coat sleeve and pulled me into the bedroom. 

"Sit down," he commanded. I just looked at him a moment. I had heard him use this tone of voice with Jim. He had never dared use it with me before. But I obeyed and sat on the side of the bed. It was the only place to sit in the little, dingy bedroom. I could feel him studying me like I was a specimen in a lab or something. I could almost understand what Jim had been talking about the times he had complained about being Blair's test subject. 

"Brown told me what happened to Jim," He kept his face impassive, but I could see the intense emotional control Sandburg was exerting over himself as he spoke. 

"Did you find the flail?" He paced the floor by the bed. 

I put out a hand to stop him. "No. Why?" 

"It's in the trunk of a small red sports car." Blair said emphatically. I shook my head starting to protest, to growl "Sandburg, you expect me to believe you know that? That is just too weird." but something in his face made me stop. 

"The flail has Jim's blood on it," he said slowly. "Put an APB out for a red sports car with Canadian plates. It's not much to go on, I know. But what have you got to lose?" His eyes were big as lakes as he stared at me, not really seeing me at all. Then he blinked and focused on my face. "Please Simon, just do it." 

A little voice in the back of my head whispered, "He's right. He knows this." So I pulled out my cell phone and called it in. Then, without much thought to what I was doing, I stretched out on the bed and fell asleep. 

I woke up with a warm and pliant body in my arms. At first nothing registered beyond the creature comfort of sleeping with another human being. Then, with a start, it dawned on me just who I held. Blair shifted against me and the grassy scent of his hair tickled my nostrils. I held very still for several heartbeats, letting my mind embrace certain possibilities as I embraced Blair. Okay, so they weren't really possibilities; he was Jim's. Jim was his. And, in truth, I wouldn't have it any other way, but that didn't mean I wanted to let him go right away. A moment longer, then I released him with a sigh. 

Blair must have felt my movement because he woke, stretched casually, and then rolled away from me to grab something off the adjacent night stand. 

He rolled part of the way back and gave me an impish grin. "Your glasses, Captain." He said formally, then, obviously catching the dismayed look on my face, started to laugh. "I won't tell Jim if you won't," he said when he sobered, and then he started to laugh again. 

I tried to be annoyed with him, but I couldn't. I found myself chuckling too. It was a brief respite from the crazed events in which we had been swept up, but it didn't last long. 

"Damn, how long have I been asleep?" I asked, scrubbing at my face. 

"A couple of hours." At my scowl, Blair amended. "Two hours, ten minutes, thirty seconds." 

I went home then and slept for several more hours before I dragged myself out of bed and headed back to the station in the middle of the night to look at the data once again. 

* * *

I'd like to say I was part of the action when Trane was finally nabbed a wretched week later, that I was along for the high speed chase and the final gun battle. But no, I was at the precinct busy being captain of Major Crimes. We had caught the little girl's killer and I was supervising the interrogation. Still, Rafe called me within minutes of the final upshot - Trane's death by a Vice cop's bullet. I can't say I wasn't satisfied by that outcome. 

The phone to the safe house wasn't answering so I made a beeline over there, only to find Jim's truck out front. He had been stashed at my apartment while he recuperated. I was glad someone had gotten through to him, because I'd tried several times and he hadn't picked up. 

The Vice cop on duty had already packed up his things. As soon as I stepped through the door he said, "They're all yours," and all but ran out of there. I just figured he was in a hurry to get home to his family. I should have known better. 

Without thinking, I headed into the narrow hallway. I was almost to the door of that little bedroom when Blair's voice came through the wall as clear as a bell. 

"Jim, Jim..." he crooned. 

I know I should have left that very second, but I couldn't make myself move an inch. 

"Oh god, Chief," Jim's voice was husky with desire and, transfixed, I felt my eyebrows rise. 

Blair gave a deep, guttural, lust-filled groan in response to what I could only identify as the sound of soft sucking. It might have been funny if it hadn't sounded so damned sensual. They nipped and sucked and teased for a while and then got to the real meat of things. 

Ah, the sweet sound of flesh smacking against flesh. I had a raging hard on and had to bite my hand when they screamed together in climax. 

That brought me back to the here and now. I absolutely did not want to get caught standing in that hallway, so I made my way to the front room as quietly as possible and slipped out the door. Once in my car, I leaned my head against the steering wheel, wishing there was a way to start a car up quietly. 

Not exactly what I had in mind for the end of this saga, I thought. Then I started laughing. But it was a fitting end. For those two, a very fitting end. I started up my car and chuckled all the way home. 

"The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done." (Walt Whitman, O Captain! My Captain!) 

* * *

End

 


End file.
